


Once Upon a Time

by CanaryWidow



Category: Degrassi, Degrassi the Next Generation, Degrassi: Next Class
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lesbian Pirates, Love, M/M, Royalty, Sorcerers, aka the Holy Trinity of Degrassi, caught your attention with that one, fairy tale AU, kind of, merfolk, or just read the summary, self hatred, sorry :(, trigger warnings for mentions of abuse, you have to read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanaryWidow/pseuds/CanaryWidow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was a child, Miles Hollingsworth the Third loved fairy tales. Now, at the age of seventeen, his life couldn’t be farther from one after losing Tristan. Imagine his surprise when he wakes up in his favorite fairy tale with a second chance at finding true love. Also, lesbian pirates (caught your attention with that tagline, didn’t I?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time

**Once Upon a Time**

            Something nudged his foot. Miles groaned in pain, finally coming to. His back protested loudly to spending God knows how many hours in such a position. He tilted his head to the right and left a few times, working out some kinks.

            “Yeah, take your time,” a voice dripping with sarcasm stated.

            Miles glanced up to find an amused Zig watching from his position against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him.

            He groaned again, covering his face. “What do you want?”

            “More like what do you want,” Zig corrects. “The party ended hours ago, and Grace will kill us if we overstay our welcome. I was going to leave you here, but…” Zig rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. “Maya said that would be mean. So. Do you want a ride?”

            “Fuck off,” Miles grouched, shakily getting to his feet. His hands found the pockets of his skinny jeans and searched for his keys. He flashed them into front of Zig’s face with a triumphant smile. “See?”

            Zig gave him an unimpressed expression. “Yeah, so, your car key is missing. Sorry, Moneybags,” he says, not sounding unapologetic at all, “but your night just became ten times worse.” 

            Miles stared at his empty keychain with disbelief. “H-how?” he wondered aloud as he silently accepted Zig’s (well, really Maya’s) offer for a ride home.

            Zig shrugged. “Let this be a lesson to you: never get hammered at a party with ambiguous criminals.”

            “Like you,” Miles jabbed at him. “And I don’t even remember why I got drunk in the first place.”

            Zig coughed as they neared a running car. “I think you’ll remember in three, two, one—“

            Miles opened the rear passenger door. “What are you talking—“ And stops talking.

            Tristan blinked from his position on top of a boy Miles presumed to be his latest boyfriend. “Miles!” he scrambled off of him and tumbles out of the car.

            Still speechless, Miles stepped out of Tristan’s way but immediately gravitated towards him as soon as Tristan was out of the car and standing on his feet. He chuckled darkly and averted his gaze to the gravel in Grace’s unfinished driveway. He swung his foot back and forth, causing a few pebbles to ping the car.

            “I swear I will kill you, Moneybags,” Zig snapped from the driver’s seat.

            “Your car is a piece of a shit anyways; what are a few dents?” Miles retorted.

            “Miles.” There was that voice again—that stern voice of Tristan’s that only worked on him. This was just a rough estimate, but Miles believed he had received at least 2,000 scolds in the mere seventeen years he possessed. Some of them were from displeased headmasters from the dozens of boarding schools he had attended; most of them were from his father. But none of them had penetrated the steel casings around his heart—until Tristan came along. Every harsh or disapproving word out of Tristan’s word disintegrated a piece of his soul, sucking out every kiss, hug, or word of love that sprung from his lips.

            Just one word this time.

            He used weed to convince himself that his father wasn’t abusive—maybe Miles deserved his hate. He hated himself, and it had ripped away the only love he had found outside of his siblings.

            Things hadn’t changed much now except his vices. He had stopped smoking the weed, but kept up with his alcohol problem. And he found a new vice: Tristan. He drank him in every time he chanced a glance at him. The dark hair, the light eyes that twinkled in wonderment, those perfect red lips…

            Miles glanced up at him. “Tristan.”

            Tristan sighed. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly.

            Miles wanted to say something stupid and witty like, _watching you and Teendr boy christen Zig’s back seat if he and Maya hadn’t already_. But something stopped him. You could say that it was the vomit. Or you could take a dive off of a cliff and opt for the more heartbreaking option: Miles had some screaming in his head (frighteningly enough in the voice of his father). It never stopped; it was a siren going off in an ambulance that was tens of thousands of miles away from its destination. Miles covered his ears, silently screaming at the world to make it stop. Make the insults stop.

            _“Why would anyone love a rich, broken boy like you?”_

_“Tristan doesn’t need you. He’s happy now. Haven’t you hurt him enough?”_

_“I wonder how differently things would be if you had just said one word during that hallway confrontation._

_“Remember how he kissed you?”_

_“Remember how you kissed him?”_

_“Remember how good he looked in your blue hoodie?”_

_“Remember how he never returned it?”_

The world went still.

\--

            There were fingers in his hair, rubbing his scalp comfortingly. He arched into the person’s touch and wanted to start mewling like a cat.

            His mother used to do this whenever his father would drag his darling wife and his young son to a charity ball to rub elbows with politicians. Every time he would grow sleepy, his mother would give him that knowing look and allow him to climb all over her custom gown and into her open arms. The crowd of doctors, philanthropists, and politicians were too loud to naturally lull a young Miles to sleep, so she would hum parts of his favorite bedtime story under her breath and massage his head. Within minutes, he went still with sleep and reassurance.

            Someone nearby was whispering, and his ears strained to hear. Miles picked out certain bits: _just leave him, Tris; he’ll be fine_ and _no, I can’t just leave him_.

            Somehow, Miles Hollingsworth the Third pushed through his jumbled thoughts and the current hell he was going through and smiled.

 Tristan.

            Soon after the voices stopped, the fingers ceased as well. Something light and feathery landed on his upper cheek like a wisp of light and hope.

            “You’ve always looked more relaxed when you’re sleeping…or high,” Tristan remarked, chuckling a bit. His tone shifted. “You’ve gotten so much better. I’m so proud for you.” Guilt washed over him. No, he hasn’t. “We’ll talk later—when I don’t reek of vomit. I promise, Miles…”

            And he was gone, along with the world.

\--

            Miles really needed to stop waking up in situations where he didn’t know where he was. But to his relief, he was in his familiar bed dressed loosely in the same boxers and tank top he wore the day before to the party.

            He groaned as his head expectedly pounded—perks of having a hangover. He swung his legs over, preparing to head over to his connected bathroom where he stored enough Aleve for a hospital. But a quick glance over at his nightstand stopped him in his tracks.

            A glass of water and a pill awaited him already.

            Miles felt a surge of love wash over him.

            Tristan. Tristan. Tristan.

            He swallowed the pill with a familiar ease and washed it down with a small amount of water. Since Tristan had saved him a painful walk to the bathroom, Miles nestled back into his warm covers. He felt too wired, too in love to go back to sleep. He found his phone on the other side of the bed and unlocked it to find a concerned text from Zoe, asking if he was home.

They weren’t dating or friends with benefits really. They had tried that route more than once and discovered that they were too alike to function as a couple. Instead, Zoe and Miles had an odd arrangement: they would hang out at a party, sit around, and judge everyone. But if someone better came along, there were no commitments to the other person. In Zoe’s case, that person was Grace. Since their kiss (if you would even call it that), the Queen of Darkness had avoided Zoe while she figured out why on Earth the conniving Latina wanted her. It seemed that she had come to senses since Zoe had disappeared with her shortly after arriving at the party with him.

Miles was happy that Zoe found someone who would love her unconditionally—like he had with Tristan.

Miles set his phone down after replying that yes, he was home, and did she and the Queen of Darkness kiss and make up? His phone fell on top of something hard and nearly scuttled off of the corner of his bed. Miles sat up to see what it was.

His favorite bedtime story.

He chuckled. “What are you doing out?” He picked up the book and ran his fingers over the worn cover gently. Tales of mermaids, pirates, royalty, and sorcerers awaited him inside. Feeling a little nostalgic, Miles cracked open the book and began to read.

_Once upon a time, far, far away, there was a young and slightly foolish king named Eric. Despite his blunders, King Eric ruled his kingdom fairly and was adored by his subjects. But his advisors urged him to find a bride. They presented him with many exotic princesses, but King Eric turned them away, claiming he was waiting for the One. Oh, but his advisors wouldn’t allow that. They knew King Eric needed a bride and fast. But how would they get King Eric to look for a bride rather than have one come to him? They found their answer in the annual Ten Kingdoms Ball, hosted in the central kingdom of Nuldan. King Eric was expected there and thought nothing of his advisors’ insistence that he attend the ball. Little did he know, a special gift awaited him on the ship…_

_The beautiful Princess Ana was from the neighboring kingdom of Rosalina. Her father sought to marry her off since she wasn’t the crown princess, and she worried that she was to be wed off to a boorish old man. The advisors knew of her sweet disposition and predicted that King Eric would immediately fall for her. They had sent her a fake note that King Eric had invited her to attend the Ten Kingdoms Ball on his arm. Desperate for any reason to escape the advances of her father’s friends, she accepted but her father would only let her go if Princess Ana’s favorite maid went too. And Princess Ana’s favorite maid’s name was Lyle, a pretty servant girl whose parents owed a debt to Princess Ana’s parents._

_One thing was sure—King Eric’s true love was on that ship._

Miles yawned. It was predictable: the king and the servant girl—what was her name again?—obviously ended up together, and Princess Ana ended up marrying another prince. The fucking end. Everyone received their happy endings. (Or what they thought were their happy endings.)

            Miles sometimes questioned his childhood obsession with the book. Surely wouldn’t the fairy tale be more interesting if Princess Ana ran off with the pirates they encountered in chapter 6? Or if King Eric had been a complete jackass? And a little bit of a slut? Or if Lyle had been a dude?

            “Now, that’s something I would read,” Miles remarked aloud, closing the book. He yawned once more, glancing at the clock. It read five in the morning, but Miles usually slept until noon on Sundays. He flicked off his lamp and quickly fell into a slumber that involved him, Tristan, and fairy tales.

            Unbeknownst to him, the book he still clutched in his hands began to glow brighter and brighter, enclosing the room in a heavenly aura. The title of the book burned the brightest: _Once Upon a Time._

And suddenly, Miles was not in Canada anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this story came from. Warning: Updates for this story will be sporadic. I have tons of other writing projects in addition to juggling school, attending dance practices, running thetrilesnetwork and thegracevasnetwork blogs, and reading fics. Also, my muse can be a bitch.


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